Fall From The Truth
by Ky the Irish Pikey
Summary: After Legolas' unexpected death, are Aragorn's suicidal thoughts really so unpredictable? ...And can the elf really be dead?
1. Ill Tidings

Fall From The Truth 

Chapter One

Ill Tidings 

***

Hello all!!!=^^= If you're reading this, I thank you a billion times for taking the time to check out my brand-spanking-new fic. This is set post-ROTK, semi-AU. Basically the biggest changes are that Haldir is still alive, so far. I may change the story slightly more as it goes along, but I'm trying to keep this as close to 'reality' as I can.

  
As for warnings in this chapter, there are few. A very very very mild description of a character death-Yes, a character death. Don't worry, Legolas will still play a major part in this fic beyond this chapter! I very much doubt I could write a story without him playing a very major role. So, of course, he will.

This isn't….exactly…quality…writing, but I reckon my stuff never really is. Sorry if you are incredibly offended by this and want to murder me with some sort of pointed stick. I most likely deserve it.

  
As a final note before I get on with it; this fic is dedicated in a bit way to Bobo, for all her wonderful support and comic relief, as well as a response to a tear-jerking poem she wrote for me…I'm seriously still emotional about it. 

Also, to Tithen Min who needs some Ego Boosters because she definsitely deserves them, and to Celestra who is my Ego Booster. Thanks so much. =^^=

Enjoy! =^^=

***

Haldir had always been a close friend of Aragorn. There had never been a time where Aragorn had known the Elf and not felt a swelling in his gut, a jollity that seemed to be contagious whenever the Lord of the Haladin was about. 

But not this time. 

Haldir's face contained none of the previous laughter, none of the mirth that seemed to blossom from the Elf's very core. Now, there was only a face haggard from endless travel and complete grief, hands trembling, eyes brimming with imprisoned tears. When he spoke his voice was hoarse, as though it had never before been used.

"They found it…Near the south gates of your city…slain with his own arrow…through the throat…"

Aragorn slumped to his knees, not even mindful of the curious spectators crowded in the room, the ones that couldn't hear the whispered conversation between their King and the mysterious Lothlorien Elf. His vision was completely obscured by a rush of tears, his judgment clouded by horror and grief. He dug his fingertips into his scalp, fisting at the tousled curls of his hair.

"Did he suffer?" rasped the King. There was a silence that lasted an eternity. A billion years of hateful madness gnawed at the King's spirit in the few seconds that Haldir hesitated. "SPEAK!" he practically yelled, Ridgidly looking up at the elf. Tears streaked, unchecked, down his cheeks, pooling at his chin. The drumbeat of each silvery drop hitting the marble floor of the cavernous roomed seemed to repeat endlessly, impossibly loud, through the King's mind.

"I…I don't know, my Lord," replied the Elf, uncharacteristically stammering. He was toying with his robes, fisting them at the waist until his already pale knuckles turned snowy. "He…he was bruised, everywhere it seemed…He struggled. In the end, they grabbed his quiver…They weren't trying to kill him, only threaten him…held it to his neck…he was…kicked from behind." Halidr coughed out the last words as though they were some tangible poison. "Impaled."

Aragorn let out a cry of anguish. He found himself unable to even keep his upper body upright from where he knelt, and pitched forward painfully onto the marble, crossing his arms over his head. His tears pooled below his head, his head throbbing with the pain of impact and the still-dawning realisation that his closest friend was forever gone. 

Sure, occasionally the Elf had strayed from his now-home of Minas Tirith, vaguely scaling the nearby forests and rivers. At one point, the Elf had been gone for nearly half a year before returning, clad in Eastern clothing and bearing many gifts for all of Aragorn's immediate family and the servants to whom Legolas was closest. 

"No," came Aragorn's staccato voice. The word beat in a rhythm with the thousands of thoughts battling in his head. Who could bear to do such a horrendous act to the most generous being that Aragorn had ever known? If these murders had approached the Elf in hopes of acquiring a bit of petty cash, the Elf would have easily given it, and perhaps even offered more of his wealth. He'd have bloody brought them to dinner, befriended them.

No, these men wanted something else, something that required infinitely more greed than a simple want for scarce gold coins. And they would pay. Through the overwhelming emotions, Aragorn managed to smile bitterly. It was almost worth these men daring to even lay a finger on Aragorn's comrade, just so he could do the Elf the justice of destroying them in the worst way possible. 

Oh, how he would destroy them.

Several of Aragorn's subjects had fled at the beginning of this outburst to urgently whisper to the neighbour's wife what little they knew. Aragorn's friend-yes, that one-missing. Dead? Perhaps…Who, though? Who could do that?

Aragorn managed to sit up, resting himself on his heels. Haldir hunched before him, and rummaged in a pouch strapped to his waist. "My Lord," Haldir said. Unceremoniously, he extracted a flawless wooden shaft, the fletching delicately auburn, and the point still specked with the familiar crimson of blood, though clearly several salves had been applied in attempt to clean the weapon.

Aragorn rose, his eyes never straying from the arrow that Haldir bore. His entire body quivered with absolute horror. He felt a blend of emotions so tightly knit that it became one sweltering, unavoidable mess of sheer sickness. He wanted to lean forward and retch, or to fall unconscious so as to spare himself the unbridled pain that came to him from the sight of the weapon. The weapon that brought about the fall of Legolas Greenleaf, his comrade in arms, and the one thing in Aragorn's life that presently meant more than his own.

Some Spirit or force from above allowed the King at least some mercy, and Aragorn felt his weak hold of consciousness harshly drop from his feet. For a moment he faltered, swaying as his vision swam, before crumpling forward, overwhelmed by black.

~*~

Arwen relentlessly mopped her husband's brow with an already sodden cloth, afraid to leave his side. A bump had swollen from his brow where he had hit his head on the marble, but aside from that he was physically unscathed. Yet still, the Evenstar worried. Her husband was bound to the Elves in more ways than one-could he, too, die of a broken heart?

Cracked lips peaked open enough to make Arwen start out of her almost reverie state of thought. She looked worriedly down on her husband, praying he was about to arouse, but instead he only let out a shivering sigh and dropped deeper into the throes of darkness that ensnared him. Arwen lay a slender hand on his breast, feeling the comfortingly rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm.

"Oh, Estel," she managed. At news of Legolas' death, she had almost fallen into the same blackness as her husband, but had resisted, somehow. Her throat had immediately closed and, faint, she had fallen back into the sturdy comfort of Haldir's arms-though they, too, trembled. He had given her a glass of water, and willed her away from the mouth of grief she had rarely experienced in her regal lifetime.

Aragorn arched slightly of the bed, his brow furrowing. "Legolas!" he cried lightly, trying to raise a hand, perhaps to bat at some imaginary demons that leered down at him. Arwen surpassed a wave of tears and used her flawless fingertips to lovingly smooth her husband's brow. The man relaxed back into the comfort of his bed, letting out a childlike whimper. "Legolas…no…" he managed, rolling his head to the side. Tears glistened in his eyelashes, but didn't fall. 

Arwen let out a hoarse little gasp, stifling it by biting firmly into one of her fingers. Her husband, the King of Gondor and the strongest man she had ever known-and undoubtedly anybody ever knew, or would know-was crying in his sleep. She fell forward, onto his chest, and buried her head into the crook of his neck. His own tears caused hers to fall with hot passion. She clenched at her husbands tunic and blindly sobbed into his skin until she had no more tears to cry, and had fallen into a hesitant state of Elven reverie.

~*~

Haldir was perched in an almost vulturelike way beside Aragorn's bed when at last, nearly an entire day later, Aragorn pulled himself from the darkness. "Haldir," he said softly, startled. The Elf relaxed into the bedside chair, frowning.

"Grief consumes you," he said knowledgably. His eyes wrinkled closed, slightly, clearly sympathetic. His own grief showed clearly beyond the pity that overwhelmed his stormy gaze. "I understand why," continued the Elf.

"I-Are you sure it was him?" Aragorn asked, rubbing cobwebs of sleep from his vision. "Perhaps it was a maiden, or another Elf?" The King jerkily shook his head in denial. "He would have been able to fend off such an attack."

"I could recognize Legolas the Fair from ten leagues away, Estel, but I had no need to under these circumstances. He was but inches away when my troupe discovered him," Haldir replied. His voice was firm, bordering curt yet far too stony in his sadness to actually be impolite. "I've known him for more than two millennia," Haldir continued pointedly.

Aragorn waved his hand, stepping the flow of comments. "Stop! You speak of him as though he is any slaughtered Man. He isn't! How do you not see?" Aragorn snapped. He twisted in the bed, glaring full-out at the Elf he once had laughed with on many occasions long into the night. 

"I have no such feelings," Haldir replied coldly. "I have different ways of showing my grief, though I can assure you I am equally overwhelmed by it." 

Aragorn hesitated, sheltering the brew of hideous anger that threatened to spill into his next words. "All right," he said reasonably, then looked to the ground. An uneasy silence descended over the pair, broken reluctantly by Haldir after a good quarter of an hour.

"It is my duty to travel to Lothlorien…to inform Lady Galadriel and her Husband Celeborn of the loss of the Mirkwood Prince. They may…they may aid me in my travels to Mirkwood. I do not relish telling the King, nor his family…Legolas was beloved…"

Aragorn nodded quickly, rubbing a hand down his jaw. He felt weak, drained, as though he had cried himself dry. But at Haldir's mention of Thranduil, of whom Legolas had often spoken quite highly, Aragorn's eyes once again brimmed with the salty, unwelcome heat of his yet-unshed tears. "Then go," he said hoarsely. Haldir nodded, gracefully rising. He crossed the distance between Aragorn's bed and the cloven door too fast to be perceived, but was stopped.

"Haldir," Aragorn said. His voice had dropped away to a hoarse whisper, as though the strength of each of his words was poured away with each tear that spilled from his eyes. "He was my brother by heart," the man said. "You will…help me find the ones who did this?"

Haldir nodded slowly. "By my life, I swear-the ones who slaughtered the Prince of Mirkwood will not go uncaught," he said. He bowed his head respectfully and left with all the nobility he had possessed before…._Before this, _Aragorn thought, finding no words that could do justice to the situation.

For none, ever written, could.

***

_Was that as horrible as it seemed when I wrote it? I hope not…that's pretty horrible. I'll hopefully have another chapter up sometime this week; if I don't, pleeeeeeassee don't hate me, I'll definitely write/post one next weekend! =^^=_

_Also, just as a note, this fic has nothing to do in any way with the other ones I wrote; Legolas wasn't caught/raped at any point by a nasty bloke with a fire fetish or a whole bunch of burly mountain people with a whip fetish. Just as clarification! LOL =^^=_

_Much love,_

_Kayte._


	2. The Scent Of Death

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Fall From The Truth

Chapter Two

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The Scent of Death

Author's Notes: I actually had this entire chapter written the same day I posed the first chapter. However, during the week, I was overwhelmed by (a) Homework including studying for like ten tests, (b) Being a tech in the four plays that happened on Thursday and Friday, (c) The plays on Thursday and Friday (d) Family Crises and Social Crises of epic amounts. I know that I shouldn't be giving excuses, but I apparently am…I'm incredibly sorry. Anyway, I hope the second chapter isn't as sappity-horrible-super-crap that I think…Sigh. There are so many billion ways this chapter could be better L 

Try and enjoy?

***

As a Ranger, Aragorn had committed to memory all that had anything to do with nature. He could ramble off without even being hinted the names of each plant that grew within five leagues of his city and their most prominent uses. Without even looking at the bud, he could identify a flower simply by touching it with his infinitely cautious fingertips, by testily smelling its unique odor. If he had derived nothing else from his laborious studies as a man of nature, he had understood this; everything had a unique texture, or scent, or careful accent in its call.

__

Except for death, Aragorn thought bitterly to himself. It was generic; there were no unique properties to death. Sure, every death that occurred was different, but only cosmetically. Deeper than that, they all had the same appearance, the same musky odor of sweat and earth, the same resonating sound of complete and utter silence. Death was the same, no matter who it ensnared. Aragorn knew this firsthand; he had fought in seemingly countless battles, seen many friends or enemies fall. He had felt his skin crawl and his nostrils burst into flames of pain as the scent of death touched them.

His dreams of late were filled with such scents. Though each dream had its own specific, eerie qualities the undertones were all relative; death. Legolas' death. At one point, he was the perpetrator, sneering greedily down on the writhing body of his friend. His hand didn't shake as he held the glistening point of the Elf's own weapon against the most tender part of his exposed form. In his grasp, he unwaveringly held the life of the Golden Prince. 

But then, something went wrong. His faceless dream companion heard something, the drumbeat of approaching hooves, and in his fright jerked. Aragorn could hear his cry of anguish as the arrow broke the skin of the flawless elf, blending easily with the flesh and muscle as it delved deeper into the pale column of his neck. The wound contracted around the arrow, fusing with the Elf's bleeding flesh, and the arrow and Elf were as one; dying together. Aragorn withdrew his hand, staring in wild horror as the Elf slumped to the ground, spluttering wildly. At his neck, his veins twitched with a life of their own, blood pooling from a wound. Confusion and pain warred in the wide sapphire eyes of the dying Elf, who weakly lifted a hand to gingerly touch the weeping wound.

His lips cracked open, stained, contaminated with his own blood as it fled from him like his dying spirit. His voice could barely be caught, his vocal chords shattered, but amidst the choking breaths and the gurgles on the blood, Aragorn could discern two words; "Aragorn…why?"

And Aragorn had awoken then, shooting upright in his bead with a cry of absolute horror. His face was drenched with his own tears, his hands bleeding from where he had clenched his fist tightly enough to break the skin. And his nostrils burned with the scent of death that he knew so well; yet this time, it defied all rules he had set for the state of demise. It was unique, because it was of Legolas

~*~

Aragorn had refused to rise from bed. Though many of his closest friends and servants had been called upon to will him out of his solitude, he blatantly refused to be moved. For days on end he went without food, only consuming what Arwen literally forced between his lips, drinking only when he had stopped sobbing long enough to, hands quivering, pour himself a mug of stale, old water from the bedside pitcher.

He soon denied even Arwen's presence by his side, so buried was he in his own grief. He fled from his bed and curled into the crook of the wall, huddling against himself, desperately grabbing at his own knees where they were trembling against his chest. He sobbed freely into his thigh, resting his brow against his knee as all the grief in the world spilled heatedly from his eyes.

It was his fault. He deduced that every torturous minute of his existence, recalling the very morn of his Elf's death. It was his fault that the Elf had died in the worst way. He had snuffed out the Golden Flame of Mirkwood, single-handedly. Aragorn's mind was far too consumed with an overwhelming guilt to even think of the demise of these murderers. 

__

"Aragorn?" Legolas had asked, lighthearted as usual. With complete grace he crossed the distance between the door and the King's arm chair, where he sat bitterly brooding over a yellowed scrap of parchment.

"Legolas," Aragorn had said, rolling the parchment for a moment to glance up at his friend. Legolas knelt beside the armchair, his elongated fingers curling around an armrest. He quirked his head, a small smile curling over his lips.

"You, a king," he said, feigning disbelief. "Ah, it is still unbelievable. Of course, you've not yet caused the demise of any significant _village, I suppose-I can credit you with that much."_

Aragorn sighed loudly. "The day is young," he replied, the mirth in his voice overwhelmed by the utter frustration from his task. Legolas' eyes swept momentarily away from his friend's face to gravely survey the discarded balls of parchment lying about the feet of the chair.

"Ah, tradeswork," said the Elf knowledgably, his grin broadening teasingly. "How wonderful it is to be a Scout on a day while you are trapped in this Fortress, addressing Kings of faraway nations to know how much wheat you can receive from them." Using only his legs, the Elf stood. In a demeanor that belonged solely to him he shouldered his quiver, completely casual yet clearly alert. 

"This King can dismiss you from your post as Scout for such ridicule," Aragorn said bitterly, though Legolas could still detect the teasing edges of laughter in the monotonous tone of his Estel's voice. 

"Come riding with me, Aragorn," said Legolas suddenly. All teasing was dismissed and momentarily forgotten; he was again the warm, compassionate friend that so many loved. "You are overwhelmed by the bores of your task-it will take not an hour." He smiled softly, gesturing towards the ajar door from which he had entered. A sliver of pale blue sky shone faintly through the crack, seducing Aragorn with it's imminent warmth.

"No," Aragorn replied, sighing louder than previously. "You have a good time. Perhaps later," he added quickly, noticing the disappointment in the Elf's eyes before the Blonde had time to repress it. Legolas smirked.

"As you will. I ride south," he said with a brisk nod of his head, and then he was gone.

Aragorn busied himself once again, telling himself that he would go riding with his friend after Haldir arrived for his visit from Lothlorien. 

If only he had gone riding! Legolas was right; it would have only taken an hour. That night, Aragorn was nowhere near done his trade agreements-an hour wouldn't have set him back at all. In fact, the fresh Gondorian air would most likely have cleared his head, and he wouldn't have had to spend a perfectly beautiful day cooped in a stifling room.

He had been caught unawares. Legolas' only weakness was his unbridled love for nature; if you were incredibly cautious, you could most likely startle him while he observed something as simple as a wren in flight or the trembling leaves of an Oak deliberately rocked by the leaves. Gondor was safe for the Elf, Aragorn had convinced him of that, and so the Elf hadn't possessed any of the wariness that used to be so common to him. Instead, he had most likely plunged himself into the beauty of the world that Aragorn often forgot to see. He had been killed because of it.

Aragorn let his legs drop away from his chest, stretching them in front of him, before laying his arms upright on his thighs. He narrowed his eyes to see through the tears that seemed to always lurk, now, in his gaze. Only dimly aware of what he was doing, he looked down each forearm, noticing the clear blue of his artery against the leathery tan of his skin. With the index finger of his left hand he traced along the fine lifeline on his right arm, causing himself to shiver. 

How could life go on without Legolas? Indeed, he was Light for Aragorn; he was Day when Aragorn thought himself trapped forever in night. He was the Moon on a night when the real one wasn't present and he was the Sun when clouds shrouded the real one. He was Laughter, and Music, and Beauty and Life, all compacted into a package simple as a fair blonde elf of Mirkwood. To Aragorn, he was everything-and now, the man had nothing but fleeting memories and the ever-present baritone of his own voice reminding him that it was _his fault._

~*~

Arwen was too sensible to give herself the luxury of jealousy. How wonderful it would be to tell herself that Aragorn simply needed a brother more than he needed a wife! But she knew it would never be true. Aragorn would mourn the exact same way if it had been she herself who had passed-denying the presence of his closest friend, starving himself, blaming himself…Arwen knew that Legolas would never become jealous in such a situation. 

But Legolas was perfect; he was beautiful in form and spirit, passionate and loving. He would know exactly what to do to get through to Aragorn, exactly what words to utter that would draw the man out of his grief, even for just a moment. Arwen unconsciously toyed with the silver band of her wedding ring. She was useless, just another bratty child of Elrond; she didn't deserve to be the Evenstar, much less the consort of the King of Kings.

Arwen slumped to the ground, resting her back against the oaken chamber door in which her husband was imprisoned-in more way than one. He had locked the door, commanded against entrance-even that of his own Arwen. He had heightened the walls of his mental fortress, forcibly denying entrance to even the most gentle of friends who tried to get in to his mind. 

"_Ai, Legolas,_" Arwen said to herself in the stark emptiness of the corridor. "_Why you? You would have the key to his stronghold._" Burdened with the death of one close as a brother, and facing the imminent loss of her true Beloved, Arwen cried herself to sleep once again, though this time lacking the warmth of her husband's form for at least a shred of comfort. 

~*~

Loopy writing crested a disintegrating scrap of parchment. Delicate runes were passed under the wide eyes of King Thranduil of Mirkwood as he beheld the words that made up a letter addressed solely to him. With a small, strangled cry with no set emotion he caught his bottom lip within his teeth, closing his eyes to shield himself from the horror of the words he read. 

__

Lord Thranduil, it read; _it is done._

And that was it.

His hands clenched into fists, and the scrap of parchment already so near to crumbling broke apart in his hands and fluttered as yellowed dust to the floor of the chamber, utterly dismissable.

***

__

Author's notes2: Thank you for reading the second chapter! I hope you enjoyed it, despite the crapiness…I'm really trying to improve on my writing style but am being distracted or am just plain miserably failing. I'll hopefully get a few minutes during this weekend to write the third chapter. Despite how disjointed this story may look, I'm actually leading it down a specific path-so I do know (roughly) what the next chapter'll look like. =^^=

Thank you *so* much for all your absolutely beautiful reviews…I feel guilty for not giving y'all something better to feast your eyes on in exchange to the marvelous reviews you all take the time to write…Maybe I'm just a review whore or something, but…Wow. You guys are the best.

Individual responses; 

Bobo: *GG!* Glad you like it, despite all…I'll email you the third chapter soon as I write it =^^=

Celestra: I only say it was horrible because it *was* horrible! Nothing compared to what I bet you write (e.g Parody *cough cough*) Rodney the Mutated Platypus is probably already stalking me due to the lateness of this chapter, aye? I love you *being* my Ego-Booster, you're really good at it =^^=

Evil Spapple Pie: *beams* Thanks. Glad you like the new story, and I hope you liked the new chapter! I can't believe you think this comes anywhere even in the same field as 'quality writing'-it's not a step down, it's a bloody staircase. About Legolas being dead, well *twiddles thumbs innocently* He could be, he could not be. 

Whitewolf: Sorry about the lack of buildup…hope I didn't injure your senses or something! =^^= Glad you enjoyed the chapter, and I Hope you stuck around for this one, and enjoyed it…

Elfchic02: Heya! Thanks =^^= I'm sorry about the sadness of this story-it's not as upbeat as most of the stuff I like to read…no, that's BS, I *love* reading angst. Have a wonderful read! And thanks again =^^=

Yours Truly: Whoa…this is possibly one of the most in-depth reviews I've received. Unfortunately, I completed this chapter before I got your review so I was unable to apply the techniques you suggested, but I definitely will in the new chapters-hopefully this'll improve the quality of the story….*crossed fingers* As for Legolas being dead; maybe =^^=

Tithen Min: HEY! I'm about to read over the new chapter of your story…I tried to the other night but my computer went off its head and tried to eat itself, thus disabling the download capabilities; in short, computer went mad and couldn't download it. Thanks! =^^= I'll email you chapter 3 soon as I write it.


	3. Reverence

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Fall From the Truth

Chapter Three

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Reverence

(A/N: Slight reformat of the standard chapter for easier navigation; apparently some were mistaking my authors notes for part of the story, and so I'm testing better ways to separate the actual story from my brief rants. I have a few topics to touch on here that have absolutely nothing to do with this story. Number one: toques. I was talking to one of my American friends, and he asked what my basic style was. I said, Bohemian Hippy with a Toque. Well, it took me about half an hour to explain to him what a bloody TOQUE was-eventually found a photo of one on Google and he's like, "Oh! A sock hat!". No offense, but they are *clearly* TOQUES! Secondly, if you've never heard any music by David Gray, run! Don't walk! To your local record store and purchase 'White Ladder' or 'A new Day at Midnight'. He's my new musical obsession. 

As for this chapter's plot…I'm sorry to everybody who had confidence in me, but I've officially ruined this story. This chapter is the absolute epitome of crap, I'm pretty sure-I feel incredibly talent-less. I reformated this chapter about a half-million times, trying to get it to be just an iode less incredibly horrible…Crossed fingers I succeeded at least somewhat. Also! I wanted to thank all my beautiful reviewers for all your inspiration…If it hadn't been for you I definitely would have stopped before I'd even begun to touch the intricacies of this plot if it hadn't been for you pushing me ahead.

Particular thanks as always to Bobo, Celestra and Tithen Min for their wonderful support, and encouragement. You guys can have Orly weekend privileges =^^=

* * *

Thranduil's hands quivered like the leaves of an aspen, sweat staining the pale Lothlorien parchment he clenched in his ashen fingers. His lips could barely form around the painful words scripted before his eyes, as he read aloud, "_Dearest Thranduil,_" his voice cracked deeply, hoarse in his grief. "_I felt as though I died hearing word of your son's passing. He was a beloved Light, not only the Prince of Mirkwood but among the most noble and kind elves in all the Ages. He brought about the mourning of not only three prominent Elven communities but as well has plunged Gondor into grief-clearly exposing his extensive eccentricities compared to the rest of his Kin. A light has been snuffed. May Valar deliver us from darkness." _

Movements deft despite, Thranduil neatly re-folded the letter and tucked it protectively into his robes. His gray eyes slowly scanned the patterned tiles of the floor, memorizing the webbed details of a cloven scene in fading grays, greens, golds and browns. Brow furrowed, he dropped his eyes shuts, concentrating on regulating his breathing. Paces, and yet eons, away stood Thranduil's eldest son and heir, Aduial-literally, twilight, the Mystery of Mirkwood.

"_Saes, Ada. Tampa," _[Please, Father. Stop.] Said the Elf tenderly. Always, the King of Mirkwood was slightly set in awe of the husky qualities surrounding the almost humanly voice of his firstborn. Though there were distinct tones of absolute love and tenderness characteristic to all Elves, there was also a husky quality that was rather alienating to Elven ears. 

Aduial's character was as literal as the meaning of his name. He was cold, and dark, each atom of his being melded in with mystery and each of his steps followed by the inquisitive eyes of those who beheld him. He radiated a certain quality of gloaming, even in appearance. Though Elves were natural pale, he had an almost iridescent quality to his shimmering skin, so much like the moon. His eyes were an endless chasm of the velvet of the night sky, and indeed it was sung centuries later that his eyes were in fact a mirror to the night sky, be it daytime or otherwise. But, same as dusk, the oldest son of Mirkwood was indeed beautiful, in his own way. He was cold, but the natural cold of a midnight stream or of late autumn chill, and he was isolated but in the way of a solitary wolf or a hunting owl; a warrior, a hunter, first and foremost an observer.

He eliminated the distance between himself and his father with shadowy grace, laying a long hand across his Father's shoulder in the most affectionate way he knew. "_Ada,_" he whispered, for only his father's ears. Thranduil opened his eyes, almost nervous in the way he lifted his gaze to meet that of his Eldest. "_Lle tyava quel? Lle anta amin tu?" _[Are you well? Do you need help?] He quirked his head, a jerky movement similar to that of a horned owl. 

"A," replied Thranduil distantly, his voice dropped into a dizzy, practically incoherent whisper. "Uuma dela, ion-nin," the King said. Aduial furrowed his brow, catching the almost grogginess in his Father's voice. The last time such a tone had been laced with his father's dismissive words had been immediately following the death of his wife, Aduial's mother. [Don't worry, my son.]

"_Ada," _repeated Aduial firmly. He squeezed his father's shoulder, his intentions tinted with affection but primarily used to recollect his father's attention. Thranduil looked up, eyes stormy with emotion. "We must ride to Lothlorien," he continued in Sindarian, _"I must look upon my brother._" 

Thranduil hesitated, contemplating for a moment barring his son from ever leaving Mirkwood, or letting him leave alone. Could Thranduil really bear looking upon his son's dead face, his colour-faded lips that would never again sing? But, the moment of reluctance passed and, steadily as always, Thranduil nodded. He passed the tips of his fingertips over the high cheekbone of his son, as if assuring himself that his child still existed in his realms of being. 

They left immediately.

~***~

Aragorn's artery seemed to jump from the flesh of his forearm as obvious as a white-clad maiden against a blackened sky. It jutted attractively out of his skin, seducing him with the utter simplicity of its existence. Why would the Valar place a life force so close to the surface, make it so perceptible if he didn't want Aragorn to somehow destroy it?

Aragorn's brow quivered with a horrific bloodlust. With the callused tip of his fingertip, he traced the thin band obsessively, a breathless endeavor that caused the man to repeatedly shiver in surprise. His mind was overwhelmed with the absolute rapture of how it would feel to empty himself through his slashed forearm, how blissful it would be to feel the steel of his blade against his pulse, to _die…_

His eyes sculpted the region hungrily, not straying as he grappled ungracefully at his belt. Feeling the leather of his dagger at last pass beneath his finger, he easily slid the blade from the sheath, testing the weight. One slice, down, across, and it would end. He could escape from this, the utter feeling of complete loss. He wouldn't have to live the rest of his hours distracted from Arwen, have to dwell in a time and place where something that had mattered more than his own life to him had been so brutally ripped away. Just one cut, and he wouldn't have to feel guilty…

The inorganic cold of his sword contrasted painfully with the grief-fevered heat that had consumed his flesh, and he winced in surprise at the new feeling. He hadn't felt tears overwhelm his eyes, but was sobbing quietly, rocking back and forth in an infinitely childlike way. He dug his blade deeper, testing the leathery resistance of his weather-worn skin.

Outside, the joyful singing of the birds pitched into a toneless hum. All the light in the chamber dissolved to unbroken black, as Aragorn clenched his eyes shut. He could feel his pulse in his ears, beating like a warm drum in its rhythm, consistency. "Oh, Arwen, forgive me," he whispered, too low to hear himself. His heartbeat sped, the drumbeat of his life now irregular, faster and faster still…

"ESTEL!" 

His reverie was broken. The familiarity of the call stirred him from the almost blissful stupor of near-death, and his eyes shot open. He lifted his head, facing the horrified, bone-white face of his wife. Aragorn's vision swam, his entire being overwhelmed with sickness as the room swirled before his eyes. The malformed blur of Arwen Undominel collapsed to her knees before her husband, desperately grabbing at his hand, deterring the path of the blade, knocking it to the floor.

"_Estel! A, Aragorn, no, no…You have me!" _Her voice was pleading, her fingers now grappling at his face, holding his gaze steady with hers. His pupils were dilated, face flushed and sweaty. He blinked steadily, beating his vision back into reality.

  
"A-Arwen," he said slowly, as if pronouncing a completely new word. 

"Shh," she coaxed, staring at him in bewildered horror. "Oh, Estel! Why? You have _me! _Do you love him more than me?" Arwen shook her head vehemently in denial, as though arguing with herself. "I know he is the brother of your Heart, Aragorn, but I am your _wife! _I am the one you _love! _I am the mother of your son, and you are destroying me!" She sobbed dryly, averting her eyes. "_Legolas would not want this,_" she persisted, striking a chord at last.

As Aragorn grappled for a response, she desperately pitched herself forward, crumpling against his flesh. The heat of her tears melted against his skin, sending Aragorn into a faraway state of self-hatred-the passion and grief behind her tears caused them to feel like fire against his exposed flesh. He started, feeling the silken perfection of her lips on his neck, kissing him again and again there, and then at the hollow of his throat, devouring him with her grieving affection.

Aragorn found himself closing his eyes, savouring the moment silently. When he spoke, his voice was a faint repetition of Arwen's words. "Legolas would not want this," came the distant whisper. Arwen nodded her affirmation, desperately nuzzling against the tangled tresses of his hair. Her fingers found his clothes, fisting it tightly, as she kissed the tip of his ear. "He would never want me dead…" Arwen trailed ghost kisses faintly down his jawbone, before stopping, her hand splayed on his chest to feel the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest.

Suddenly, Aragorn jumped in realisation, staring in mystification at his wife. "Arwen, _mela, _what do you mean _son?" _

~***~

Legolas was but a line of inanimate flesh, a useless, lifeless elf that was breathlessly draped across Haldir's arms. His hair fell from his scalp as loomed sunlight, a waterfall of golden beauty. His eyes had been forced closed, and didn't move behind the lids. A cloth had been tied tightly about his neck-Haldir had, in a moment of sensibility, covered the probably brutal wound from the eyes of Legolas' mourners.

The Lothlorien elves stared at the pair through the cover of the trees with wide eyes and barely suppressed horror. Naturally, their curiosity would overwhelm their common sense and they would approach Haldir, question him about the well-known Blonde he bore, breathless in his grasp. But the emotions they sensed emitting from Haldir were so utterly confused and sad, so alienating compared to the joyful emotions normally radiated from Haldir's being as fluently as his breath.

Galadriel appeared from nowhere, stepping before Haldir. She sharply inhaled, lurching forward slightly before catching herself. Eyes wide, she allowed herself to look over Legolas' limp form. Celeborn felt her grief before she fully understood it, and appeared as she had from the Mallorn trees, gracefully throwing his arms around her waist and twisting her to face him.

"Oh, _Celeborn, no,_" she breathed, tears catching in her eyes. She pitched into the familiar warmth of his chest, burrowing herself against him. He felt her grief and spoke to her silently with his mind, stroking her hair with a quivering hand. She feverishly clenched at his shirt, all her strength forgotten, forbidding herself to look again upon the slaughtered Prince.

Haldir bowed his head respectfully to Celeborn in what might have been apology, and disappeared into the roots of one of the Golden Trees. He found himself in a familiar subterrain bower, earthen walls rising full height beside him. He finally felt how cold the body in his arms was, and distastefully lay Legolas on the ground, before crumpling to it himself.

Where he sat, head burrowed now in the crook of his knees, Haldir the Guardian of Lothlorien and the old friend of Legolas Greenleaf finally slept.

~***~

Arwen passed her fingertips over their familiar path down the sensitive jawbone of her stony Estel. His eyelids fluttered, dropping shut. In harmony, their bodies shifted, hers against his, until each of Arwen's fitted against Aragorn's, and together despite their different appearances they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, flawlessly blending until it was impossible to decipher where one began and the other ended. 

Arwen tilted her brow against her mate's, absorbing the mortal warmth he emitted into her own head. At last, she allowed herself the silent, victorious luxury of knowing that, despite the never-ending affection Aragorn would always feel towards his now-dead best friend, she would always be first in his eyes. 

She allowed herself to close her own eyes, comforting herself with the immobile blackness. She knew Aragorn's touch so well that vision barely helped her in analyzing his emotion through the simplest graze of his fingertips across her flesh. She could tell when the quiver of his hand was grievous or nervous, when his touch was meant to be elusive or he was simply being tender. His palm barely touched her as he traced her hip, scanning her waist, and finally allowing his hand to warmly splay at her navel. Despite herself, she let out a tremulous sigh.

His words came to her ear as a hot wind of love and hope, recovery. They ghosted over the upswept, sensitive peak before finally registering in her brain, causing at last a smile to spread over her lips. "Do you have a name for him?" His thumb massaged her belly, nervous of the child he knew blossomed within. She opened her mouth, but reformed her answer before even a letter had been uttered.

"Legolas," she said with reverence, the interlaced undertones of horrible sadness and absolute defeat overwhelmed by the love of her old friend conveyed in the syllables of his name. 

Aragorn's hand drifted about her belly, the other hand reaching behind her head to pull it just a bit closer, to nestle her raven hair against the crook of his neck so that the King could rest himself on his Wife. And, from his touch, Arwen knew that at last, without opening her eyes, the King was smiling.

~***~

Haldir's eyes were closed, and his expression was so serene despite the tension lines creased over his forehead that the unlearned would have thought him asleep. But he slept not; instead, he concentrated deeply on the war of emotions that fiercely plucked at his will from within his mind, the sickly whisper of his suppressed conscience from deep within his gut. When he opened his eyes at last, much time had passed; the moon had risen, as he could feel from the different, spicy qualities in the air. 

Haldir set his gaze on the curve of Legolas' back where he lay on the floor. The Elf had been deposited, horribly limp on his side, in a way that he curled in upon himself, almost fetal. Not even a hair on the fair Legolas' head stirred in the stolid air of the sunken chamber. 

Haldir spoke only to himself in Elvish, his words to soft to be deciphered from the laments that overhung the forest, from the whispering ruffle of the trees and the distressed conversations of nearby mourners. The Guardian for a long time didn't stir, and appeared so much like a statue carved of fair marble that even the roots around him stopped whispering for a while, perplexed by the transformation.

Suddenly, Haldir started, his russet eyes widening. He stood so quickly that for a moment he felt he was going to overbalance, dizziness overwhelming his mind. He hesitated, courage wavering as his morals fingered against the courage he had pressed into his task, nearly eating away all resolve he had earlier developed. Without warning, he regained his composure, his face splitting in a grin that could be described as nothing short of malicious.

He stared at Legolas, tense like a cat before it pounces that unwary mouse, his fingers splayed but not even twitching, only his hair lifting and falling occasionally from his shoulders when a breeze found its way through the tangled roots of the above tree.

Slowly, Legolas' eyelids lifted, and his glassy cobalt eyes glanced confusedly about the surrounding chamber. 

* * *

~ Nobody you can save who can't be saved…~ 

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(A/N2: You don't think I'd actually be able to kill of Dear (godlike) Legly, no did you? If you did, I think you must seriously re-examine my worship of the Elf. I really do have a Legolas shrine in my bedroom! When I first read about the Call of the Sea, and thought it meant Legolas was going to die in the third book or something, I was practically bawling my eyes out. Anyway…

**Elecyn Starmaker**: Thank you so much for your swelling-ego causing review. You made me seriously blush! I can't believe you don't think that my characters are one hundred and fifty percent OOC…

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Bobo: YAAY! I *finally* posted it…Grahhh…I'll send you the next chapter soon as I get around to writing it =^^=

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Celestra: Thank you so much for your review, all though you are clearly mistaken; chapter two was horrible, and unfortunately I didn't manage to do better on chapter three…Thank so much for your support, though. CAN'T WAIT TO SEE MORE PARODY! And I've got my Garden Gnome handy, thanks for the Rabid Platypus tips =^^=

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HaloGatomon: Hullo! New reviewer; a thousand Yays! Thank you so much for your review. Though I definitely am by all means a review whore, I love writing far to much to do anything like refuse writing until I receive a certain number of reviews…Sort of makes me nervous when nobody review though because I think I've descended into a whole new, uncharted level of terrible…Hope you enjoyed this chapter!! =^^=

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Alexa: *BLUSHES* Graah! Thanks so much for your review, no matter how red it made my face…Of *course* Legly is alive, did you really think I had the heart to kill of such a lovely being? LOL I think I'll use your idea for the last chapter. Aragorn: You were dead! Legolas: *shrugs* Just kidding! (hug) GIGGLE!!! *cough* Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks again!

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Evil Spapple Pie: It's not self pity! It's the brutal truth, I swear! Oops! Didn't see that word is final bit. *submissively falls silent* As for your hypothesis about the story, all I can offer is a ridiculously mysterious grin and a 'We'll see'. Hope you enjoyed!!!


	4. At The Begining

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Fall From the Truth

Chapter Four-_At the Beginning_

(A/N1: I was having real trouble posting this chapter. I wrote it all in one go, but I thought it was too horrible to post. I sent it off to a few people, all of who encouraged me into actually posting it; so I want to thank them. Tithen Min, Bobo, Evil Spapple Pie and Celestra; you guys are always there to help me out, no matter how annoying I'm being, so thank you. =^^= Special thanks to BlueTopaz, for complimenting me so avidly even when I clearly don't deserve it, and to Reginabean-who really needs to send me more writing, HINT HINT HINT HINT!!!

Also! Tithen Min's in the midst of writing an amazing _fic called 'From Ancient Grudge'-I highly recommend reading it, because it's *absolutely fabulous*. I really really really really recommend it =^^= _

Without further ado, chapter four.) 

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~We were strangers starting out on our journey

Never dreaming what we'd have to go through

Now here we are and I'm suddenly standing

At the beginning with you

-At the Beginning, Anastasia~

* * *

On days like the present, where the tapered tips of the thickly clustered ivy trembled and strained under the weight of the morning's rainfall and the sun barely peeked through the gray veil of cloud above, the present seemed all but irrelevant. It was days like this, when Arwen was preoccupied with her weaving in the dusty depths of her private library, where Aragorn dwelt not in Minas Tirith and the warmth of his Gondor, but instead in the elusive memories shifting like shadows under the sweep of a torch within his mind.

Mostly he remembered a kaleidoscopic personality, vibrant and colourful and shuddering with love of life. Images of lengthy platinum hair pulled tightly back in acute braids that Aragorn never failed to tease, and the brief swap of childish taunts that the Elf and Aragorn recited ceremoniously before any given battle. He remembered once, in Mirkwood when first they had met, overseeing the Elf bend down with a mysterious beam crawling over his lips, admiring the contrast of colours between a blossomed red rose and the bud of a fragrant bluebell. 

At first, the man had felt an overwhelming jealousy. Aside from the superficial reasons for envy, such as the ethereal appearance of the Youngest Prince, the way that no matter what might be the light it was always horrendously complimentary to the alabaster beauty, there was also a web of sinewy intricacies, metal and physical, that Aragorn worshiped. There wasn't a situation, tense as it may be, the Elf could not bring upon himself to lighten nor an inch of the world that he did not find, in some way, beautiful. 

Aragorn wished that he could, for an hour in his life at least, throw away the burden of the _big picture _as his friend evidently had; he wished he hadn't seen Mordor as it spewed black smoke from its belly but instead seen the crooked, trod-on blade of grass that, relentless, pressed in between the obsidian pebbles and laughed lightly as though all gold and good emulated from such a tiny area. Legolas never failed to make the best of a situation.

~*~

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"Ah! Thranduilion! I appologise for my intrusion into the lovely forests of your Country unannounced, but I can assure you, I am a friend," Aragorn said, wary of the arrow pointing fiercely at the bridge of his nose, unwavering, peeking out from the elegant curve of the Prince's bow. As soon as he had gotten a steady look at the Elf warrior who had caught him, Aragorn had identified him as one of Thranduil's heirs; though they differed considerably in both age and appearance, there was a distinctive air about them; the high, chiseled cheekbones and gleaming eyes, the hesitant mercy they showed before killing either beast or man. Had the Elf that caught Aragorn tracking been any other than a son of the Elf-King, he would already be dead.

"_You know who I am before I have myself said it, human," came the melodious reply, without missing a beat. The bow lowered, angling away from substantial threat, though Aragorn could immediately see (as perhaps he was meant to) that the Elf's muscles remained taut, arm straight and ready to regain composure at a moment's notice. "You have observational skills equal to any elf, friend. Pray tell, who be you?"_

"I am," Aragorn hesitated then. He had met many elves, though only trusted those from Imladris most easily with his name. Even when he had met Thranduil, it had been Elrond who had introduced his foster-son and not Aragorn himself. Biting his lip quickly, Aragorn looked quizzically at the elf before him. Calmly ,the elf looked back, his bow now limp at his side and the arrow mysteriously replaced in the quiver. A ghost of a smile touched the edges of the blonde's lips, waiting patiently. "I am Elessar, also known as Aragorn of the house of Elrond,"

"Estel," Legolas replied firmly, "I have heard of thee. I am Legolas Thranduilion, though you knew most of that already. I hope I did not frighten you with my hastiness at bearing my bow; there have been creatures of a rather unsavoury nature lingering about these borders for more than a decade. Come! My father will be glad to have such a noble guest! He has grown most bored of me and my siblings, I'm afraid…"

Aragorn laughed lightly, appraising the elf once more. A warrior no longer, Aragorn now found himself standing before Royalty lacking the regal, pompous attitude that Aragorn had found commonly amidst the Mirkwood kin. This creature smiled avidly, happiness his aphrodisiac and laughter his reason for waking in the morn (if indeed he slept). On the way back to Thranduil's mountainous realm, Aragorn (trusting Legolas easily) supplied the information of his journey, including the creature he tracked.

"We spotted this Gollum west of our palace not a fortnight ago!" exclaimed the blonde with a smile. "He shan't have strayed far. But first, you must come and eat-I'm sure that you crave Elven nourishment. Hunting is fine only for men who have never eaten roast groundnut!" He clapped the man he had just met on the back as though for centuries they had been best friends, and guided him towards the ornate dining hall.

~*~

"Estel, mela," Arwen breathed again as she laid her wiry fingers over the tense muscles of her husband's back. With her thumb she worked at unknotting the familiar tension, leaning her head into his neck. A heated sheet of sweet breath crawled like a living thing across Aragorn's flesh, lighting it afire, and he started slightly. "Faramir and Eowyn have arrived," she announced without volume, nor request. She kissed at the junction of the man's neck and shoulder, as Arwen knew he loved, before sliding her head easily into the contours of that area, arms curling around his chest.

"They have come speedily," Aragorn said, voice catching in his still-raw throat. He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the sunlight over his skin. Though the day was dark, the sky so gray that it appeared as though grime and dust overspread the heavens, the sun still showed through and warmth still met the leather of Aragorn's skin, somehow.

~*~

The entire world was a weight, a mass that crushed at his belly and drew air from his lungs before he could breath it. Eyelashes caught together, hair matted unattractively across his brow where a distinct sheen of perspiration glimmered in the half-light. Through cobwebs, the trembling creature on the dirt could see the silhouette of an upright finger, fingers spread at his side waiting, _waiting…_

Lips quaked, slowly spreading. A rush of sulfur and salt pooled on his tongue as the cracked lips began to bleed profusely, dry. His tongue was too heavy to move to clear the obstructive substance, so the blonde was left bleeding from the mouth and lips on the ground. He tried to blink away the tears that overwhelmed his dried-out eyes, but found his eyelids paralyzed. His every movement was impaired as though he was tethered to the very core of himself, immovably.

A fresh layer of sweat coated the flushed skin where it was exposed, staining the Gondorian tunic with its moisture. Slowly, lethargic as though weighted and beneath water, the blonde on the ground arched upwards, fingertips dragging across the turf of the ground, fisting the soil so tightly that knuckles became white and bloody, crescent-shaped marks appeared beneath the nails. Lips spread more, breathing growing steadily less laboured. 

A soft cough, drawing blood, escaped the raw throat of the Prince where he lay trembling on the ground, before he spoke at last. His voice was practically lost in the roughness of his breath, though the brief words still discernable to the keen ears listening anxiously; "Where am I?"

~*~

The minute that Arwen and Aragorn stepped out of the corridor, into view of their two visitors, Eowyn rushed to gather Aragorn in a firm embrace. Her hands clung to his tunic, and his head nestled into the crook of his neck as he muttered his appreciation for her arrival into it. Next, Faramir grasped him firstly in a firmly soldierly way, before tugging him into a hug similar to that of his wife. Aragorn appreciated the love of his friends, but had never felt so venerable.

"I am sorry to interrupt your vacation," Aragorn said softly, touching Eowyn's cheek in sisterly affection. Her doe-eyes brimmed, and she shook her head vehemently, batting away his apology with a firm gesture. She snatched his larger hand in her own, hugging it. 

"He was our friend too," she said forcefully, cradling Aragorn's hand at her breast, "And you are our friend. Vacations can last, but you need us now." She dropped his palm to cup his face, looking at him meaningfully, before turning to Arwen and embracing her firmly. Faramir hesitated, glance lingering awkwardly on the ground.

"I never would think that anything like this could happen. Never dreamed," Faramir said slowly. "I know how close you were-I have never seen two closer friends. I always had wished for somebody that knew me better than I knew myself, who I could readily confide in and it wouldn't feel as though I was sharing a secret with anybody but myself. When Boromir was slain, I felt as though my limbs had been ripped off-a substantial part of me was missing…I can't even fathom how much worse it must be for you."

"It is not as though my limbs have been ripped off, my friend," Aragorn replied numbly. "It is as though my heart has."

~*~

Legolas furrowed his brow deeply, rubbing at his temples in attempt to hasten the exit of the grogginess overwhelming his senses. His pulse thundered in his ear as a drumbeat, consistent and deafening, overwhelming the hollow, distant sound of a speaker's voice. His mind was too muddled to discern the tones characteristic only to Haldir, eyes too clouded to see the creature clearly, and so Legolas was left dumb on the floor, unknowing who his captor was.

The voice came to his head again, a painful crack of a whip that burned within his brain as complete agony. Never had Legolas felt such a headache, even after recovering from a night of drinking with the Aragorn while the man was in a depressive state, or sampling the home-brews of the Hobbits. A soft moan escaped his lips, tears cresting his eyes through the pain. Desperately, the Elf tried to collect the searingly painful, scattered syllables of Haldir's words; "You have been exiled from Gondor, little elfling." 

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(A/N2: Well, there you are, chapter five of Fall From the Truth. I hope you enjoyed it-I'm about half-way done this story and have already written the last chapter, so I do know at least roughly where this is headed. I'm having a great time writing this, despite the clear lack of talent behind the work, and am actually really excited about starting the next chapter, though I don't really know why. I can't believe how well-met this story is! A billion kisses to all who reviewed-thank you *so* much for giving me the confidence to keep going.

Individually; 

Aragorn's Evenstar: Hey, a new reviewer! Hey there! =^^= Thanks a million for your highly blushable review!!! I hope that I got this out quick enough, and that you enjoyed it. My ego's so swollen now…Yay!

BlueTopaz: Gaaah, you're the best-and I don't care what you say, you're a *much* better author than I am. I hope you don't get all your inspiration from me, considering how much of mine I get from you!!! As for the "How's He Alive"….Hehehehe…we'll see. (cackles)

VaniaHepskins: Your English is much better than mine, so don't worry about it! =^^= Thank you so much for that review…Brightened up my day. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Reginabean: Of *course* I love torturing the readers-that's what makes it worth writing! Well, that and the beautiful reviews, but bahhh.

Hummn'Rag: Hehehe! Thank you sooo much for the review-I don't think I'll be able to stop smiling for several months yet. I can't believe you don't think it's crap…This really miffs me, considering that it *clearly* is. But reviews like yours give me confidence, so thanks =^^=

Little Lost One: Thanks! My story's not really original-I steal from every story I read. You want to read original check out my favourite's list! =^^= But thanks a trillion!!

Evil Spapple Pie: Thank you soooooooooooo much for the song so I could write this chapter! Many chocolate dipped elves over to you!!! I love reading all your speculations…You may or may not have the truth of the matter in those word (mysterious music). I'll give you this; No, Haldir is not possessed but he is NOT being himself (I love Haldir, so normally I write him as a fluffy I LOVE THE WORLD character). And I blatantly refuse to make Faramir anything but wonderful, considering what a great character he was in the books…But the rest is open for speculation.

Littlegreenleaf: Welcome back to FF.net! I don't *think* I'm not a good writer, I know it. But thank you a million for the ego-boosting-remarks =^^= I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and'll stick around for the next one. Sorry for making you feel bad! Now I feel bad too, if it helps. 

Elecyn Starmaker: Okay, firstly, your stuff is NOT garbage – did you get my incredibly jealous review for Epidemic? I'm still waiting for the next chapter of that, considering how amazing it is. Sorry about the sleeping parents! It's always fun to shriek at fanfictions =^^= Hope you enjoyed this chapter!!

Jedi Cosmos: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter…though there wasn't much emotion (deep sigh). =^^=

Tithen Min: =^^= =^^= Thankyouthankyouthankyou! Hope you enjoyed this chapter the second time around! And I'm about to email you back, don't worry ;-)

Bobo: GG! Of course I put that quote in, though I still can't fully understand it. Nobody you can save who can't be saved…does that mean you can save them…or you can't…Gods what a confusing world. LOL! Hope you liked this chapter!!

Celestra: Hey! You okay? You haven't been on MSN lately, I've been worried about you! I'm glad you liked this chapter, and it's always wonderful to have as great an ego booster as you =^^= Have you worked on the parody!??!? *waves Rodney about threateningly*

Ashley: LOL Sorry for confusing you, apparently a lot. This chapter didn't really clear much up, but I'll try and explain the Legolas coming back to life in the next chapter. Thanks a trillion for your review!! 

I seriously can't believe how well met this story is. Thank you all a hundred million times for your amazing support in all I write-without you, I wouldn't be writing, let alone posting. You're all amazing.

Other note; GO SEE RED DRAGON! Stop reading this! GO AND SEE IT! It had blood, gore, naked Ralph Fiennes, general creepiness, a great plot, mystery, intrigue and EDWARD NORTON!!!! OoooooOoooOooOoOooOoh!

Until next time, XXXXOOOO, 

~Kayte.)


	5. Murderer

Fall From the Truth Chapter Five 

Murderer

_(**A/N: **I feel the need to apologise for this chapter. I don't know what it is about it – but it's really, really, really, really horrible…You guys have all been so incredibly supportive with your amazing reviews – my ego is seriously swollen – and all I have to pay you back is _this…_If you don't feel like reading the next chapters of this I'll completely understand…_

_Dedicated to so may people; you guys are the greatest. Firstly, to EVERYBODY who reviewed; I'm so miffed at how well – met this is, especially considering…(looks over work and flares nostrils). I'm sure you guys could find a fic a lot better than this one to occupy your time. All your reviews are so flattering… I don't think I've ever blushed more deeply than when I read your reviews. Thanks. _

_I just saw Minority Report, on a different note; really, really brilliant, at least to me. Plus, Collin, which is totally always a plus. Saw Phonebooth recently as well; I really liked it. An hour an a half focused on a sweaty, mmmmm Col…He's made #4 on my Hotness list – don't worry, Hot Elfness is still #1. _

_DROP WHAT YOUR DOING AND SEE RED DRAGON. That is all =^^=_

_Try and enjoy, I guess…)_

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Blood streamed, unstopping torrents of crimson, over the trembling hands, paling as disgust left a trail of bile down the attacker's throat. He could feel as all the blood drained out of his features, replaced by a horrified sheen of thick perspiration, uncharacteristic to the usually regal being. The trembling of his calves and the liquid that was now his knees denied the Elf the leverage he needed to stand. Instead, he feel forward.

The heart beneath his forearms, stretched across the tremulous chest, beat in an uneven staccato, as the lifeblood pumped within her became less and less until the heart's job was no more. The attacker could feel sharp burning across his arms as the heart spluttered her last pump, and the gaping wound across the dead girl's throat spewed only another wave of red. 

Haldir could feel the liquid of the blood all up his arms, and speckled generously across his jaw. His eyelashes hung heavy with droplets of the tiny child lying dead beneath his sword, the iron scent of her death violently infesting his nostrils. His wide, panic-stricken eyes fluttered downwards, to where the silver of his blade intersected with the smooth, red-dyed flesh of the child. In a swift movement, he withdrew his sword and cleaned it on a patch of clean grass nearby. 

The child that lay on the ground looked so lifelike Haldir felt nausea, for the first time, growing heavily in his gut. He placed his hands overtop of his mouth, only to feel her blood infiltrate his lips, feel the saltiness of her death against his tongue. Tears clouded his vision, but he could still clearly see her glassy, cobalt eyes staring desperately towards the canopy of the forest, see her lips wide-spread in an unspoken scream and could see the rivulets of blood running from the corners of her lips…

Her tiny body came not to Haldir's elbow. She was tanned, from living at a farm, her hair majestically tawny and leonine, hands tiny and fisted. She lay with her spine in an arch, trying desperately to escape Haldir as he pinned her to the ground, paralyzed her as he reached for his knife, paid for the life of his Yatari with the daughter of her killer…

Haldir woke in a sweat, and could swear in the haze that the blood of the girl lingered on his arms. He had washed ceremoniously for hours, had burned his clothes and the body of the girl, rubbed himself with jasmine and pine until he smelled of infused wood and prairie. But still, the blood had never left his limbs, never left his lips; the guilt of her death, an innocent, a _six year old _who knew not what life was, yet, kept Haldir from sleeping at night.

He had thought that avenging Yatari's death would bring him a satisfaction of sorts, some sort of resolve that her death was not entirely in vain. In a rage of grief incomprehensible to man, he had slaughtered in hopes of honouring Yatari's spirit; yet, at night, the Guardian knew that all he had done was taint the image of his beloved. If ever the two would meet again, in the Halls of Mandos or whatever world awaited Haldir beyond his last breaths, she should not take him back to her embrace. 

* * *

Thranduil awoke in a cold sweat. For a moment, he was utterly disoriented; the cold chill of the night are abused his sodden face with vicious lashes, and above the distinct rustling of the canopy of a forest resounded clearly through the otherwise quiet air. The only light was spilled from the moon above, the dark shadows of the trees around tinged blue from her awkward light. 

Aduial snapped awake, eyes immediately honing in on his father. Confusedly, he ran a long hand through his silken hair, tugging sleep from his mind. "_Ada what ails you?_" he spoke in that voice; the words fell from his lips as though pulled from the bottom of a dark pit, forced through his lips and surrounded in horror and mystery – it was how he always spoke.

"Aduial – it hurts! Ai!" Thranduil gasped. His fair features furrowed, brow creased and knit as he winced. His trembling, ashen hands clutched at his tunic before his heart and he cried out in pain, feeling his gut wrench. His vision was overwhelmed by white pain, and so the King forced his eyes shut. Blood hammering in his head, resounding as a drumbeat, he fell back onto his bedroll.

"Ada!" cried Aduial, leaping to his father's side. He knelt, his fingers working the knots out of his father's brow with gentleness few knew he possessed. "Ai, Ada! Tampa!" [Father! Stop!] he pleaded.

Thranduil opened his eyes to slits, seeing only the obscured form of his son. Aduial had always been more brilliant than his brother; like a lake, frozen in the dead of winter, he reflected moonlight so clearly that it was as though he himself emitted it. So fair, even for an elf; slashes of eyes, similar to a cat in so many aspects, yet blue. _So blue…_

Thranduil found little of himself in his son's face; most of his beauty had been inherited from his mother; the waterfall of ebony hair, the tight rosy lips, the too-thick brows that Legolas too had inherited. He walked with a gait quite dissimilar to Legolas' uncertain slouch, and to Thranduil's regal stance – he walked with his head bowed, yet his eyes to the world – nothing would ever escape his eyes…

The pain passed as a wave might, flotsam of numbness surrounding Thranduil's heart as he sat up, rubbing his head. "Aduial," he said, grounding himself. His body still trembled, and the King felt ridiculously weak. How dare he act so uncharacteristically shaken, especially by something as trivial as…

_Legolas, _he reminded himself, and painfully struggled to his feet. On the ground, felibe eyes watching with an expression of worry and confusion, Aduial opened his mouth to say something, but reconsidered. Thranduil's face was set, and though no word was spoken it was clearly stated that it was time to continue. The pair must reach Lothlorien within the week, and they were lagging too far behind for Thranduil's liking.

* * *

When Arwen awoke, she could sense Estel still asleep at her back, arm draped luxuriously over her waist. He breathed deeply, his dreams no longer invaded by ghosts, whispers of the past, murmurs of an uncertain future. The elf shifted, her shoulder aching from her awkward position. She thought she felt a fluttering in her belly, but knew that was unrealistic; her child was but a month formed, and no larger than her fist.

She already knew its gender; she had sensed that from the moment of the conception. Though it was a relief that the firstborn would be male and heir, Arwen still pined for a daughter – she had grown up in a household of men, her only refuge being their infrequent visits to Lothlorien. When she wed Estel, Arwen fancied that perhaps Eowyn would become a larger part of her life, but the maiden was frequently otherwise occupied. 

Legolas, the only other elf in Gondor, had forced a similar dilemma. When the two spoke in private, he often wistfully of Mirkwood, and how he missed the realm where he had lived for many centuries. He was always polite, telling Arwen not to take offense, but it was hard to discuss his past with one who had never experienced the beauty of his home. Often, Legolas pondered returning home – but some sort of falling out with his brother, after his mother's death, confined him – at least, in his mind – to Gondor.

Arwen had never trusted Thranduil. Perhaps it was just Elrond's mutterings, when he thought his daughter would not overhear, of the arrogant haughtiness of Mirkwood's king – or perhaps it was the time, years before, when Legolas had viciously sworn that the bruise on his cheek had been received after a riding accident. Aduial, Legolas' alienated older brother, had hardly ever been around when Arwen was. He seemed to shy out of contact, skirting crowds, clinging gratefully to whatever shadows he could find and immersing himself into a word of mystery that Arwen had no wish to explore.

Aragorn murmured something in his sleep and pressed his head against Arwen's shoulder. She reached back, sliding her fingers into the familiar curls of his hair. It had always fascinated her; during her protected childhood the only hair she had known had been long, luxuriously groomed and straight. Clinging to this small comfort, Arwen fell back asleep wondering if Thranduil had, somehow, impossibly, played a part in Legolas' death…

* * *

Legolas was cross – legged, practically meditative, when Haldir found him the following morning. His head was bowed against an awkward slash of wind that had found its way into Lothlorien, eyes closed. Haldir watched in fascination, momentarily forgetting his position as he remembered how much trust the two had had in each other's childhoods…And even recently, mature warriors, they hadn't hesitated in watching each other's back in battle. Haldir would gladly have died if it meant saving Legolas, and he knew the Elf would do the same.

Haldir pondered giving himself up. Legolas would feel no wrath, only confusion and sadness at having been so brutally betrayed. But betrayal had already begun; Haldir doubted that he could feel more guilt. He had already destroyed a family, and now he was tearing apart the stitches of a tightly sewn friendship, greedily thinking of only himself as he did so.

If only he had been more careful…if only he hadn't been set on vengeance, the Thranduil would never have found out about that little girl, would never have approached Haldir in the dead of the night, sword at hand and a smile on his face to indicate he had already won the approaching battle.

Legolas tensed, looking up towards Haldir, but not seeing him, with despair in his eyes. Haldir bowed his head, and walked away before he could be sighted. 

* * *

(_Augh…I told you so. I'll try and write up the next  chapter later today. I have a really clear idea of where I want this fic to go, but I'm such a terrible writer – don't you dare say I'm not, I know you're all thinking it – I just can't get it down on paper. Deep resounding sigh. _

_In response to all your reviews;_

_Firstly; thank you all soooooo much for these. They really are what makes me go on; you're all so great for taking the time to review. I love you all!  =^^= This fic's totally dedicated to anybody who ever reviewed._

_Reginabean: Mmm, rescue team…No, I'm kidding. Sorry about not having written sooner! Hope calling the rescue squad didn't cost too much…_

_Bubbles: Aww, I hate you too, if it's a good thing! =^^= Sorry about the long wait in getting this chapter up…I'm really, really, really, really slow, aren't I? Augh…Hope you enjoyed this chapter, somehow! Sorry about your Polar Bear LOL hope you got that cleaned up. =^^=_

_LadyofMirkwood: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. You don't think I've completely overdone the emotions? There's no action in this story…just…introspection rubbish…Grah. Thanks for your review!_

_Elvensong: LOL Sorry about how confusing this fic is…I'll try and explain Legly still being alive in the next chapter. Thanks for your review!_

_Aithilin: I am sort of abusive to these characters, aren't I? I hope they forgive me – I have lots of ideas for future fics I need them in! Thanks for your review -  and cast sympathy, of course! =~^= (That's winking, in case it looks as dilapidated to your eyes as it does to mine LOL)_

_Fanny: (blushes) You really like it? Why? But thanks a billion!! =^^= I hope you enjoyed this chapter – even though it took so long to get up!_

_Vuaryn: Thanks so much =^^= Glad you enjoy – and I hope you liked this chapter! Even if it took so bleeding long…_

_BlueTopaz: LOL Thanks for the, um, review…Yes, his heart was thingamajiggy. I've noticed that you don't have a new chapter up in your fic. (HINT HINT HINT HINT HINT HINT HINT HINT HINT). Hope that wasn't too subtle LOL…Thanks a billion for your review =^^= And I can't wait to read more of UW…(siiigggggghhhhh)._

_Snicks and Adri: LOL! Thanks for the review! Chocolate and Chocolate Dipped Elves to both of you! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. _

_Evil Spapple Pie: You promised me a long review, remember? Hehehe…Thanks so much for your support in this…I won't say which but one of your theories in that review is right! You're so much smarter than me LOL I'll have to thicken the plot to see if you can still see through it…Maybe Legolas should be pregnant? _

_ZeldaDragon: (ego swells and explodes) I can't believe you like this story so much…are you serious? Are you sure you're reviewing the right one? Thanks so much. I loved Haldir too – don't worry, he's not intentionally evil in this =^^= Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

_Wandering-Ranger: Thanks for your review! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! _

_Bobo: Augh…I have had Lucy in the Sky in my head for sooo bleeding long it isn't even funny – not that it ever was, I guess. What a stoner song. Hope you liked this chapter! I meant to send it to you earlier but I just wanted to post it LOL_

_Celestra: Heya! Thanks for your review! I don't think the writing in this was sophisticated at all! Are you certain you didn't mean idiotic? And you sure it's not overdone? The entire thing is just…emotion. It's so dumb…And about Haldir being evil, heh heh heh, we'll see._

_Little-lost-one: Thanks! =^^= Hope you enjoyed!_

_Lisseyelen aka Lady V: YAY! For Techies – the un-appreciated important beings behind the production of any play =^^= Sound Techie-ing is fun…You're probably better at it than me though LOL Good call on the mystery genre!!=^^= Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

_Angel: Sorry about the confusing-ness – and of course t'was your threats were what made me produce this chapter! =^^= Hope you enjoyed it, despite all. Craig Parker's a cutie! I couldn't make his character COMPLETELY evil. Maybe I'll write an E/E/E/L friendship story next time…that's a good idea!! Thanks! =^^= _

_Aragorn's Evenstar: Sorry about ruining Haldir! I'll try and make him a better char in upcoming chapters – his transformation seems to be bothering muchly. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll try and updated soon! =^^=_

_Katiestar: Hehehe….You'll find out about Haldir, I guess =^^= Thanks for the review, even though this clearly isn't fantastic – you're a definite ego-boost!_

_Elecyn Starmaker: You deserve wonderful reviews far, far more than I do, trust me. Your writing style is so much more eloquent than mine…my story's a blob, while yours are all formed and wonderful. I can't wait to read the next chapter, HINT HINT. You definitely should email me sometime – I'm flattered you'd even consider it (deep blush). Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

_VaniaHepskins: Sorry for taking so long to update! Hope you enjoyed this chapter – and thanks a billion for your review! =^^=_

_Linwe Seregon: (looks about innocently) Hehehe….sorry about confusing you, I tend to do that._

_Wow! 54 reviews…thank you all so, so, so, so, so much for your support – without you writing just wouldn't be worth the trauma! I'll try and update soon – and if I don't you guys are entitled to beat me with a stick, if you want! Thanks again!_

_~Kayte  
  
_

_)_


	6. Revealed AN HeheheNaked Elves!

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Fall From the Truth

Chapter Six

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Revealed

(_A/N: What's that Mister Mob? This took forever to post? No, your watch must be slow…Why do you have that massive top-heavy wooden club in your hand? You want to what me over the he –_

*several hours later*

Augh…I had this written like a month and a half ago – not literally obviously – but I couldn't bring myself to re-read it for the edits, or to reply to any of your wonderful reviews. It's not that I don't appreciate them – reviews are what keep me from sinking into a bottomless pit of talentless depression – it's just that you guys are all so nice to me, and I don't know…It's been a really rubbish month for me. I haven't had very much time to myself, either, so I couldn't write the seventh chapter (I'm getting to work on that this afternoon, don't worry). But, at last, aheh, here is Chapter SIX!!! I'm not sure if it's worth the wait, probably not, but this story's about four chapters off of a conclusion. THEREFORE!!! I'm brainstorming for NEW FIC ideas…got any!?

This is dedicated to, as always, Bobo – who's always there to give me a pillow when I accidentally run into walls or miss my window, aheh, to Tithen Min and her beautiful story(ies) that I've been really skimping on reviewing, accidentally, and deserve six hundred billion reviews because of their absolute excellence. Huntress of the Night, for being a great friend, and for giving me something funny to read when I thought I'd never laugh again. Spapple, for leaving beautiful long reviews and just in general being a large psycho – the only way I'd have you, mate, don't worry. LOL

There are billions and billions of others, and you all know who you are. =^^= 

…BLUETOPAZ! Update your story! My indestructible Golden Dragon Mob with Very Hot Fire owe me a favour…I wouldn't want to accidentally cause harm to any of your worldly possessions. (cough). LOL =^^=

Enjoy!!! … somehow. LOL) 

Haldir thrashed in his sleep, as though possessed. His lips spread as he arched off the bed, whatever scarce blood that had previously given colour to his face draining completely. Legolas watched, anxiously perched on a chesterfield parallel to the bed. The elder only trembled, curling up against unseen enemies. 

Suddenly, Legolas leapt to his feet, staring dazedly down at Haldir. Automatically, his hand dropped to his waist, only feeling the unfamiliar smooth of a borrowed nightshirt and a distinctive lack of his longknife. In his sleep, somewhere deep in the fiery, hellish chasm of his reverie, Haldir had shouted out Legolas' father's name, deep in denial. 

__

Haldir calmed his breathing as he doused the flame with a wooden bucket of water, the ashes issuing a hiss and an angry charcoal cloud of fowl-smelling smoke. Haldir winced as tears fled automatically to his eyes, and he winced against them. Quickly, he kicked dirt atop the dying fire, burying any evidence of what had transpired only hours before.

The Marchwarden rose, dusting off his cream tunic with trembling swats. In his haste to leave the horrible day behind, he failed to hear the footsteps – however light – approaching from the east, or to feel the burn of eyes against his back. Haldir instead slid his longknife back into the ornate sheath at his waist, the blade polished and devoid of the burdensome scarlet that now haunted his dreams.

Haldir blended with the forest as all Elves did. He shimmered simultaneously with the trees above. The pale pearl of his face seemed to be a reflection of the moon above as she bore her cool light down the forest, and his fists were too tightly clenched to continue trembling. Distracted, he practically ran head-on to an Elf before him.

King Thranduil was formidable even in only his dull hunting clothes in the characteristic Green and Gold of his realm. Broad-shouldered and square-jawed, he scanned Haldir with evident relish. Haldir lifted his chin, the stony arrogance he had adapted since Yatari's murder overtaking his previously emotional face. 

Without warning, a horrible grin blossomed from Thranduil's jaw, his entire demeanor changing. His teeth glimmered wildly as he beamed at Haldir in absolute victory, eyes shimmering with an uncharacteristic devilish glint. With strength and brutality rivaling an Orc, Thranduil snatched Haldir's shoulder. Unsurprisingly, the vulnerable Galadhrim quaked beneath his touch.

"King Thranduil!" 

"Oh, Haldir," said Thranduil, a chuckle full of evil mirth bursting from his spread lips. "I'm afraid your luck has just changed."

"Pardon m-me?" Haldir replied. Had Thranduil been minutely less perceptive, he wouldn't have noticed Haldir falter in nervousness. Had he been caught in the act?

"I never did like you," Thranduil said, his eyes still gleaming. "No, Haldir, I certainly did not. You are low, low in my eyes. Perhaps in Galadriel's hierarchy all elves are equal – but I'm afraid I think slightly differently. You are slime, Haldir – I am a King and you are but a lowly servant. I could squash you – " the King emphasised his movements with deliberate closing of his forefinger and thumb. " – and naught would even notice you were gone.

"Once, perhaps, I respected you as a warrior. Oh, you are able, I have no doubt – even before maturity you showed skill in swordplay, you were talented at archery. Even Greenwood's females seemed to be wooed by you – your beauty, your talent, and your particular interest in music and poetry. I was jealous. I was of noble birth and I was jealous of one of Galadriel's commoners! _But I lived on, and eventually I forgot whatever quarrel I previously had with you, for practically three centuries. Until I figured something rather intriguing out after my dear Wife's passing…"_

Haldir stared at Thranduil, incredulous. It was all falling apart. He had indeed been seen, he had been caught committing the most destructive act…He could only gape and Thranduil as his fate was explained through brutally slow, patient lips. "What?" he finally asked, his voice low, husky in distress.

"It appears, Haldir," Thranduil pressed, the mirth on his face draining. Within a second, the vengefully content King had been replaced by the firm, white-faced husband of a dead Elf, the King's hands suddenly trembling in absolute rage. Haldir could smell the sweat and anger on Thranduil's breath as he leaned close, whispering the words so quietly that Haldir could barely hear them…"It appears, Haldir," he repeated, agonizingly quiet, hissing, "that you have a son."

Haldir shot upright, and felt cold hands slither around his jaw, clasping over his lips to stifle the inevitable yell of horror. He closed his eyes against the heavy moisture cresting them, breathing in the scent of wood and pine on the fingers beneath his nostrils. 

Legolas's knees dug into Haldir's back, and the Marchwarden shifted uncomfortably. Feigning indifference, he muttered a demand of release against Legolas' salty palms, but the Prince granted nothing. He instead leaned forward, bowing his head in a way that a cascade of flaxen silk fell over Haldir's bare neck. 

"Shh," Legolas coaxed, then leaned back. Once his friend stopped trembling, he drew back, and sat himself once again at the sofa. Haldir turned to him with stony eyes, the red against white of his eyes that his tears had caused unconcealed by the darkness. Concern was written clearly over the lines in Legolas' brow. 

"Don't fret, Legolas. It was merely a bad dream," Haldir said, forcing a small laugh. He offered Legolas a brotherly wink, and lowered himself back onto the bed. This time, he fell into complete darkness, and no memories threatened him from within.

"What kind of nightmare did you have, Haldir," Legolas wondered aloud, "where it you would feel fear towards my father?"

Against all training that Haldir possessed for an emotional situation like the one at hand, Haldir gasped. "Aduial," he whispered. "Valar – I thought that he was born a month early,"

Thranduil laughed bitterly, though his lips did not tweak into any sort of a smile and his eyes remained cold, blatantly staring at Haldir in outright rage. "I thought the same. There was always something about that child," Thranduil admited with a short laugh. "I saw none of myself in him. He looks like his mother did – the same hair, the same smile…But he was so _pale, _the kind of pale you don't find in Mirkwood. No, indeed – he was pale because of his moonbathed sire,"

Haldir shook his head in denial, struggling against Thranduil's grasp. The King held both his arms at the elbow, impairing any possible grasp of a weapon. "Your own mother was from Lothlorien – she was pale herself!" objected the Marchwarden in desperation.

"Clever lad," Thranduil replied lightly, shaking his head firmly. "I thought the same thing. She knows it was you, Haldir. She knew it was you from the moment the child was conceived during the Flower Festival. But she needed me as security, Haldir – she loved you, but she needed me to unite our broken families, and thus the lie. You share a voice, Haldir – you and Aduial. Every time he speaks, it leaves a wake of shock. You speak the same,"

Haldir remembered the Flower Festival clearly. He and Rhiw had been close friends, and it had been that night, drunk on the fumes of the coming spring and the rich, spiced wines brewed specially for this occasion, that they had confessed their previously unknown affections to each other. Unbeknownst to Thranduil, who spent the night dancing with a flock of admirers, Haldir had brought his new wife back to his talan and impregnated her.

Two months later, the announcement was made that the first heir to Mirkwood would be born in eight months. He was born in seven. 

"How I hate you know, Haldir, for you have complicated my life greatly with your existence," Thranduil continued. "You see, I am now faced with a horrible dilemma. Aduial, who bears none of my blood, cannot be my heir and therefore cannot succeed me when I pass. Therefore, I am left with only my incompetent youngest who would rather write poetry than have children – and who hasn't associated himself with the Elves since he has befriended the King of Gondor,"

Haldir still trembled from the shock of this announcement. The world was swirled into oblivion aside from the face of the golden Wood-Elf before him, as he continued to speak. Something fueled his words now, and they poured from his lips lacking the control and regal air that he had earlier applied to them.

"He will not come willingly back to Mirkwood – not when his entire life is now based with that foolhardy mortal, a halfelf and an entire realm of those much lesser than him. He will not leave Gondor until Aragorn Elessar is succeeded by whatever heir his Undominel whore shall produce – and by then I may have already passed across the sea. I will not leave Mirkwood to Aduial – he will be banished from my kingdom to live with you once my plan is accomplished. But I have something to propose to you," Thranduil continued.

Since his beloved's murder at the hands of those folly mortals, Haldir had valued nothing more than his work. He poured himself into his scouting, firing with more accuracy and slaying with more brutality than he had when he had first received employment. Without Yatari, there was nothing but his bow and knife to accompany him during the long days along Lothlorien's borders. If Galadriel was informed that, in cold blood, he had murdered a defenceless mortal _child, _his title would definitely be stripped from him, and Haldir's life would hold no use. 

"I'm listening," Haldir replied, stony, cold, emotionless. He felt as though he had sold his soul to the Devil.

"Something isn't right," Faramir said softly to his wife. She glanced up from a book spread on her lap, raising an eyebrow slowly. The Steward tilted his head, and emitted a soft sigh. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. "I don't know – but it seems unlikely that Legolas could have been killed by his own arrow,"

Eowyn raised an eyebrow, silencing her husband's rambling. "He has shot down many Orcs with those arrows, and you have never doubted the sincerity of their potency then,"

"That is all very well," Faramir agreed, furrowing his brow. He averted his eyes from the disbelieving hazel orbs gazing at him with intensity. "But I do not see why Legolas would bring them with. Aragorn said that earlier in the day Legolas wished him to come along on some sort of expedition around Gondor, correct?"  


Eowyn made a vague guttural noise of agreement.

"Legolas never hunted," Faramir explained, "and no Orcs have been spotted near the outskirts of this town since Aragorn has taken the throne," he continued. "Legolas was in a forest, so arrows would prove to be nearly completely useless. Have you seen the trees there, Eowyn? There is barely a shoulder-width between each trunk – even with his accuracy, Legolas' arrows would succeed in damaging only the trees. He hasn't brought his quiver and bow along with him during a simple walk for many years now."

Eowyn tensed, her eyes widening in a way that brought to mind a stunned deer. "We must go see his chambers!" she exclaimed. Faramir rose, following her like a tame dog as she quickly scaled the stairwell, scampered across the hallway and bore open the door to his room as though opening an old wound.

She threw herself into the untouched room, and threw open his wardrobe, rummaging madly. Catching her drift, Faramir slid over to the bureau and began to dig through the drawers. 

"AH!" Eowyn shouted, yanking something free of an upper shelf. She turned, clasping a strip of leather between both her hands so fiercely that they trembled and whitened. It was the strap, still attached, of Legolas' only quiver. Faramir's eyes scanned the feathered ends protruding from the gaping mouth of the elvish container, shimmering with disbelief. It was packed tightly, and indeed when he tried to remove one arrow from the quiver all those touching her lifted alongside.

"No arrows are missing," he explained to his wife, still wide-eyed. 

She turned quickly, dropping the quiver into Faramir's hands. Deft hands explored the upper shelves of the wardrobe, easily extracting the longbow that Legolas himself had crafted, along with the older, dustier one that he had been blessed with by Galadriel years before.

"He brought no bow, nor quiver," Eowyn breathed. She looked up at her husband, and they shared a look of confusion and surprise – if he had brought no arrow with him, then how could he have been slain with his own arrow?

In mutual, unspoken agreement, they scampered towards Aragorn's chambers.

(_A/N Prime: Aaaah, it all comes clear in the end, does it not? As I said, seeing as most of the mystery is thusly exposed, this story is drawing to an end. There are still a couple of twists I have to brusquely and unprofessionally explore, but I have the end mostly written – at least in my mind. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and trust me enough with updating before the end of the world that you stick around for the next one!_

In individual responses to your reviews;

Anhesanumun: It's not a good thing…just keep reading! Maybe he's mysteriously *not* dead, aheh.

Linwe Seregon: Today, as a matter of fact. LOL!!! Sorry about the incredibly long wait…

Reginabean: Sorry for not writing to you in a bit – I'm starting on editing your stuff soon as I post this, don't worry! Glad that the search party was cute … maybe I should disappear again just so you'll send them after me?! LOL … Whoo, better start on the next chapter…BEATING STICK COLLECTION!? WHAAAAAT?!

Alkachion: Aaah, those damn voices robbed me of my reviews!!!! (shakes fist) LOL Sorry about the puzzling plot! I hope this chapter helped tie some of the wildly loose ends I left, and I hope you enjoyed! I've actually never read Macbeth, but cool that I'm like Shakespear, sort of – though obviously nowhere as good. Disclaimer; Sorry Bill. Riight, sorry. Of course Legly isn't dead!!! LOL He's much to yummy to die.

Evil Spapple Pie: Whoo, this'll take a couple minutes to write back to. LOL!! Not that I don't love it…long reviews make my ego swell. Hehehe. Sorry about the five minutes before school in which you had to review, though I must say you did quite well. LOL! Riight…Hope this chapter at least clarified a wee bit, though that's probably doubtful… Alright, you're correct about Haldir murdering unknown man's daughter to honour his (sob) beloved Yatari…Yes, Thranduil witnessed the murder with his uber-third-eyes, or something mary-sue that I seem to write, LOL… After that I can't confirm anything, but I must say you're achingly close…LOL I should write more decisively because you seem to figure everything out!!!

Spike's Lil Black Vamp: Of *course* Haldir's a good guy, he's just too lovely to pass up being a sweetheart, isn't he? Yeah, I sort of do slide in and out of conscious writing…SORRY! Hope you haven't died of old age between now and the last chapter LOL Cos your reviews make me happy!

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Kayte Unfading bounces.

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Riight.

Ivory Novelist: (blushes and blushes until her face explodes with blushocity) Aww…thanks! I can't believe you actually like my story…It's not that good is it? But thanks :D:D Reviews like yours make me want to keep on doing this. Sorry about the massive update wait! 

Vania Hepskins: Sorry about sadening you with my OC version of Haldir L LOL Thanks for that…Yes, my fic seems to confuse everybody – I hope that everything works itself out…LOL

Tithen Min: SORRY SORRY SORRY FOR NOT REVIEWING YOUR STUFF! Agh, I'm horrid. ROFL Great subtle hinting, though. Hope you enjoyed this chap!

Ryoko: Eep! Sorry about my MURDEROUS (hahaha) story! Hope that this chapter doesn't kill you so much… I like your reviews! LOL =^^= Sorry for that entire paragraph there. Thanks! Hope you enjoyed!

Bobo: ROFL I know, hey!? Every review is like. "Your story is, um, filling me with confusion." Isn't it grand?! Aaah. LOL Isn't Haldir evil though? Ah, we all know what happens to him. (All: No we don't! Me: (cackle). LOL Hope you liked…I'll send you the next chap soon as it's done!

Vuaryn: I think maybe I should make Haldir spontaniously combust, but that doesn't seem like a very Middle Earth thing to do to a character. Haldir: I feel so guilty! And boom. Right. I need sleep LOL Sorry again about the horridness of this chapter and the long long long update gap!!

The Dark Rogue: Sorry about the confusion! I seem to have caused it in many an innocent brain, eh? LOL sorry about you skipping the lines….meh, they're all bad, probably worth skipping. Thanks for your review!!

Angel: Sorry for my hardly accessible confusing horrid story! It's not great though…there is so much wrong with it, it's depressing! But thanks for the compliments J I think that I probably DON'T want a Baba Barlog after me, so I'm going to start and try to resolve the tension LOL Thanks for the threat… I'm still trying to think of a plot for a EEEL Thing…LOL Any ideas?!

Celestra: Wow? At the badness, maybe. But thanks =^^= You're like THE ONLY PERSON IN THE HISTORY OF THIS WORLD who didn't call my fic confusing LOL – not that that's a bad thing, confusing I mean… I like to be puzzled. Right. Thanks for the compliments and AAAUGHH (is attacked by rabid computer mice)

Until next time, thank you a billion for all your marvidy marv reviews…I'm going to try and start writing soon as I get a muse! =^^= And I'll upload soon as I'm done, this time. Thanks again =^^=)


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